


Today's Weather: Umbrella on a Cloudless Day

by CadetDru



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: Don't read books with no author but a clear owner.Welcome to Night Vale.Listeners, we’re going to have a little different format today, in honor of a special visitor.Statement from Cecil Gershwin Palmer, regarding Jonathan Sims, Archivist, travelling through Night Vale.Statement Begins
Relationships: Cecil Palmer & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 112





	Today's Weather: Umbrella on a Cloudless Day

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for everyone who scientifically helped me determine how to describe voices.
> 
> Tweaked slightly, subtle inspiration from a variety of discord servers.

_Don't read books with no author but a clear owner._ **Welcome to Night Vale.**

Listeners, we’re going to have a little different format today, in honor of a special visitor.

Statement from Cecil Gershwin Palmer, regarding Jonathan Sims, Archivist, travelling through Night Vale. 

**Statement Begins**

The Archivist came to town today, brandishing a tape recorder in the parking lot of the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. He seems to have that kind of _low_ -key, _lo_ -fi aesthetic. People assumed it was for a podcast they’ve never heard of. He has a name, but there is no reason to use it. He is the Archivist, here from… well, that doesn’t matter, either. He’s an outsider in need of an insider’s perspective. The tape recorder needs to _feed_. 

When he came here, he asked questions, his voice sounding out like a conversation between thunder clouds. Fortunately, no one heard his voice over their own cries of “interloper” before bringing him to the Station. Breaking news needs to be on air where it can be managed. 

You will _not_ hear his voice over the air, Night Vale. Believe me when I tell you that it sounds like the percussion of _heavy_ rain on the canopy of a _sturdy_ umbrella. You might not know what that sounds like, here in our arid little pocket of the world. You don’t need to know. His voice, just like that heavy rain, isn’t meant to be experienced by you, dear listeners. 

His voice wouldn’t be enough. He isn’t like me. We both are part of the **Beholding** , working to gain and disseminate knowledge in our approved function. We have different functions and different methods. The Archivist needs eye contact, a physical presence. He is sitting with me, here in the studio.

As I look across to him, I see a _handsome_ man, aged beyond his years but still in the prime of his life. He is so young compared to me, dear listeners, but so many are. If I called him _dreamy_ , I think he might even blush. You wouldn't expect an Archivist to blush. His predecessor wouldn't have, but she was different.

He is dreamy, you know. He’s not as handsome as my Carlos, of course, but apparently there’s a certain type of man who finds himself here. One common trait would seem to be dark hair, prematurely graying. There are other physical characteristics that I know so well in Carlos and can see reflected here in the Archivist: planes of the face and bones of the wrist. 

There’s a voice like a cloud on an otherwise clear day, a voice that says encouraging words at _just_ the right time. An understanding voice, one that _misses_ the rain on the umbrella. That voice is nowhere near Night Vale. There's no guarantee that our Archivist will ever hear it again. Not unless he continues on his set path.

The Archivist is thinking of interrupting me-- he’s sitting here, politely not talking but _completely_ physically capable of the act. He is my guest, not a **prisoner**. He’s trapped by his own rules. His lips are a tight line, holding back sharp words in a harsh tone. He wants to be respectful, because he doesn’t know what we are.

He wants statements, needs first-hand accounts. He needs knowledge about the Unknowing, as if that is something desirable or even achievable. As the Voice of Night Vale, I speak for us **all**.

His tape recorder is taking my statement even as we are live on the radio, despite him not turning it on. It knows what it needs better than he does. He doesn’t trust our recordings, and we wouldn’t trust him with them. This man is on a mission, serving a power that he fears and doesn’t comprehend. That happens to all of us from time to time. He’s looking for answers, as if that’s something we can give him, something that exists.

He’s in this country to gather more information. He absorbs the knowledge of “bizarre” experiences. From my understanding, these experiences are nothing more than the day-to-day for our little desert town. It’s an honor for him to come here, amongst those who serve the same entities. The eye watches over us all, but Night Vale is no safe haven.

He’s trying to pick up the trail of previous Archivists. We’re a dead end there. He’s the first one that we’ve let into our town. This means he’ll be the first we let back out. None of this is a threat, Archivist. It's so easy for me to talk about you like you're not even here, because soon enough you won't be. You’re safe so long as you’re here. You just can’t stay here. You have so much to do outside of our city limits.

Don't you want to see that blue sky, hear that one cloud? Don't you have work to do? Isn't it time for you to go back home?

Be seeing you, Archivist. Safe home, Jon.

**Statement Ends.**

And now...the weather…

**Author's Note:**

> (Insert your favorite shipping song here, I suppose)


End file.
